Benefactor: A Greenbridge Academy Romance

by Knox, Abby

  Playing along, I tell him it was fine but I’m nervous about our first meet on Sunday.

  “Will my boyfriend Anthony be there to cheer me on?”

  “You know I will,” he says roughly while mouthing my nipples through the fabric of my sweater.

  He ravages my lips once more and my knees almost give out. His lips blaze a trail of kisses down my neck as I moan. “I miss you all the time. Do you think about me when you’re at rugby practice?”

  “You know I do,” he says, pressing me against the inside of the front door.

  Rushmore groans into the V in my sweater when I palm his cock over his trousers. His breath against me lights up my nipples, which ache for his touch. There’s no way I’m ending this visit without some actual, real, skin-on-skin naked time. My body is screaming for it.

  His hands scramble at the fly of his trousers.

  “Ooh,” I squeal. “Did my boyfriend bring a condom?”

  He grunts as he frees his cock from his briefs. “Don’t need one for what we’re doing.”

  “What are we doing? More high school fantasy stuff?”

  Rushmore replies by tugging at my sweater and growling against the skin of my bare shoulder, sending shivers down my spine. “Yes. Now, I invite you to take off your panties.”

  I do as he suggests but I have to add as I kick them to the side, “You know you talk awfully proper for a high school student, Anthony. Whoa!”

  Suddenly my ass is in his grip and my legs wrap around his waist. My plaid uniform skirt hikes up and our groins fuse together in a not-quite-intercourse grinding dance as we kiss and maul each other with our hands. With one hand settled on my ass, the other opens my cleft. I hiss in surprised delight at his touch.

  “Anthony, tell me your parents aren’t home?”

  “They’re at work,” he says with a ragged voice and a wink. “But they’ll be home any minute. Gotta make this count.”

  My eyes flash in anticipation of what he’s going to do. He seats his cock along the inside my folds, but doesn’t penetrate me, creating an entirely new sensation. Once I’m seated there, he holds my ass tight to guide me along his cock. Soon, we are grinding together as I ride him. It’s a move I never thought of before, his cock pleasing all my sensitive bits while I slide along his shaft.

  “Anthony, you’re such a bad boy. I’m going to report you to Headmistress Moody.”

  My acting skills seem to ramp up his desire, because I feel his dick jerk against me, teasing my throbbing lips and my needy clit. His back and forth movements as he guides me to explore his entire length with my aching split have me dripping and begging for him to fill me.

  When he angles the tip to tease my clit, my climax slams through me like a hurricane. I yell his name when it hits. My pussy contracts so hard against his rod that I squirt.

  “Fuck. Me,” he rumbles against my breast, trying to hold my hips still while I writhe against him. With one huge thrust, his body seizes. I feel his warm release slide down my inner thighs. His orgasm rips a roar from his throat, and his body trembles so violently I feel compelled to wrap my arms around his shoulders.

  As I catch my breath, I murmur against his shoulder. “I love these teenage fantasies of yours. Did no one ever indulge them with you before?”

  Rushmore’s body stiffens in my arms. Clearly, he doesn’t want to talk about the past.

  I’m too in his thrall, and too spent, to push any further tonight.

  Somehow, though, he will have to let me in. Someday.

  20

  Hunter

  I can hardly believe it when Ridley scratches her heat at our first swim meet of the season. Hadley and at least four other girls on the team do so as well. They simply do not go to the blocks when their name is called.

  It’s so painfully obvious what is happening. I don’t know where to look. I can’t look at Coach Weston, who looks livid. I can’t look at Rushmore, who must be feeling as if he’s sitting in the stands watching all of his investments in this team float away. And to top it off, his own daughter humiliates him by participating in this stunt.

  I’m amazed that this group of my teammates actually goes through with it.

  With so many shenanigans, it’s almost a given that we lose to Saint Mary’s.

  The next night after practice, after we endure a fiery speech from the coach, who informs us that Ridley and her gaggle of “yes women” will be suspended for two whole meets, Addie and I talk things through.

  Everything finally makes sense.

  She and I drive around for about an hour spilling our guts and it feels amazing. First, to my shock, she reveals that she’s been pining for Coach Ford since August, and even details a laundry list of mixed signals she’s gotten from him.

  I’m so happy to be talking to her again that I tell her everything that’s been going on. I tell her about the card in the flowers, about my agreement with Rushmore, about our secret meetings, the gifts, even the car. To say she’s shocked is an understatement. Concerned? Most definitely. Worried that Rushmore doesn’t have my best interests at heart? Of course.

  “This is going to take a while to wrap my brain around, but after the day we’ve had, I’m just going to go home, eat ice cream and go to sleep in a sugar coma,” she says when I drop her off at home and we give each other a big hug.

  But no sooner do I arrive at my empty house than I get a text from her.

  Worst. Day. Ever.

  Uh oh. I text back right away: ???

  M&D read my diary. Full of my pining re Weston. They are freaking the F out.

  I roll onto my back and read a flood of texts from her detailing her exchange with her parents. They are seriously upset.

  I feel terrible for her.

  A frightening thought occurs to me. She may be having fantasies about and a connection with our 24-year-old coach. But everyone at Greenbridge would flip their collective lids over Rushmore and me. I know I can trust Addie to keep it a secret, but I honestly don’t know how I’m going to keep it all under wraps.

  I have to. My Dad might never be around, but I’m pretty sure he’ll try to kick Rushmore’s ass when he finds out.

  21

  Hunter

  It’s chilly in Central Park but my excitement about being here more than warms me up. And the fact that we are about to go on my dream date helps too. That is, if I can get Rushmore on board with this idea.

  The Greenbridge Academy all-school winter musical production of The Sound of Music went off without a hitch—well, nearly without a hitch, until the original Captain Von Trapp had to drop out and be replaced at the last minute with none other than Ms. Fairhope’s gruff, tattooed boyfriend. I don’t pretend to understand her ways or why she thought that would work, but he somehow, reluctantly, pulled it off.

  I was still elated and exhausted over the show when Rushmore swept me away after the closing curtain and onto his private jet for the promised trip to Manhattan.

  His opulently appointed penthouse at the Rushmore Hotel on Fifth Avenue is beyond my wildest dreams. Certainly more ornate than any place I’ve ever stayed in.

  As I was so tired from all the work on the show, Rushmore simply let me rest that first night, cradled sweetly in his big, protective arms.

  I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me before why Rushmore wanted to whisk me away to New York, but now I understand. We’ve spent the entire day after our arrival walking hand in hand in broad daylight, kissing and canoodling on park benches, and eating delicious food off each other’s plates. He’s told me about his latest business dealings, and he seems interested when I tell him all about Ms. Fairhope and what she told me about Vince and his foster son, Max. And not once was either of us concerned about where my parents were, or if anyone was around who might know us. So far, it’s been the most freeing day of my whole life.

  And now, I want to go on a carriage ride with my reluctant boyfriend.

  The last time I was in New York City, I’d been on a chaperoned t
heater class trip. On that theater trip, we’d seen the Statue of Liberty, Rockefeller Center, the Twin Towers Memorial, and a number of other must-see destinations.

  Rushmore is a very different kind of chaperone. So when he asks me what I’d like to see and do in the city, I suggest doing something he’s never done before.

  “How could you not fall in love with those big brown eyes?” I plead.

  “I’m more concerned with what comes out the back end,” Rushmore says, eyeing the majestic creature I’m petting.

  I pout. “Come on.”

  “A carriage ride?” he says, trying his best not to audibly scoff.

  As if he could talk me out of it now that I have my hands on an actual horse.

  “I’ve always wanted to do it; you said you’ve never done it. Please?” I plead.

  Rushmore kisses me gently on the tip of my nose and slips a hand around my waist. “How can I say no? It’s your big brown puppy eyes I can’t resist.”

  I squeal as we mount the carriage.

  He agrees, with the understanding that my meeting he’s arranged for me with the talent agency is in an hour.

  “I’m really proud of you, you know,” I say to him once we’re making our way around the park.

  He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Why?”

  “Well,” I say, “I overheard Ridley a while back saying that you had had a talk with her about work ethic. She was complaining that you were taking off to New York for Christmas and she was actually doubting whether she was going to get any guilt presents this year.”

  Rushmore’s posture goes rigid and his face is blank. “I don’t want to talk about Ridley or family stuff. It’s Christmas. Let’s just enjoy the moment.”

  I shrug and try again. “We can get to know each other and talk about personal stuff while still having a good time and not forgetting about Christmas.”

  “It’s just…it’s going to take me a while to get used to talking about personal things.”

  I’m beginning to feel deflated. Surely I’ve misunderstood what he means. Surely he doesn’t mean he’s not interested in getting to know me or vice versa, or sharing our heavier details.

  “OK, what do you want to talk about?”

  He turns to me with a thousand-watt smile. “Let’s talk about your meeting today and the audition. Here’s what you need to know about them…”

  He goes on to tell me facts, figures, advice, and I space out for the rest of the carriage ride. What’s more romantic than a carriage ride at Christmas time? Nothing. Who has so many walls separating his emotions from his relationships that he can make a Christmas carriage ride unromantic? Rushmore.

  My spirits improve when it’s time to meet with my prospective agent. I remind myself how I’m actually grateful for all the connections Rushmore has shared with me that has led to this moment.

  This is it, I tell myself as we head through the revolving glass door on West 57th Street. This is what I’ve been building up to my whole life.

  But when we reach the suite number, the etching on the door clearly reads “Modeling Agency.” Modeling? This is not what I signed up for.

  I control myself and decide to be polite. I go through the motions. I deliver my most charming stories during the interview process. I even fake the catwalk fairly decently even though modeling is not my jam.

  But the entire time, on the inside I have to work very, very hard to be grateful for the opportunity.

  22

  Rushmore

  Something is off with Hunter all through dinner.

  “Are you all right?” I ask. “You seem distracted.”

  Hunter pokes at her food and finally sets down her fork.

  “Anthony. I’m extremely grateful for you. I know you mean well. But we have a disconnect. I wish you would have consulted me before booking with a modeling agency.”

  I’m nonplussed. “But they loved you. You did amazing and you looked like you were having a great time.”

  “Acting. It’s what I do. I’m good at pretending I’m having a good time. But modeling is not what I want to do,” I say.

  I’m so confused. “A lot of actresses start out modeling.”

  She sighs. “I know that; it’s just not how I want to start out.” Then, in a quieter voice, she adds, “You would know that if you actually paid attention.”

  Now I’ve switched from confused to defensive. “I’ve given you nothing but attention for months.”

  Hunter’s looking at me like she doesn’t know me, and I don’t like it.

  “I don’t care about the flowers, the car, the fancy food, the books you want me to read, the music you want me to listen to. You started this thing by asking me what I want to do with my life, and you said you wanted to help me with that. But all I see is you pulling the strings to mold me into what your vision of my future is.”

  Well, now I’ve lost my appetite. “I thought you were happy with me.”

  “I am happy with you,” she says, gesturing at me. “But I am alone all the time. I want romance. I want company. I want to talk. I want to watch Real Housewives and eat junk food. And yes, I enjoy the orgasms, don’t get me wrong. But I feel like you think my opinions and ideas are not…grown up enough for you.”

  She’s got it all wrong, but she’s not done. Hunter is gutting me alive right in the middle of a Michelin-starred restaurant, calling me on my bullshit that I didn’t even realize was bullshit.

  “And on top of that, I don’t know the real you. Do I make you happy other than making your dick hard?”

  “Hunter,” I whisper, leaning toward her. “You need to calm down. People are starting to stare.”

  I should not have said that. Her voice grows louder. “Let them! I need to let this out or I’m going to explode. Everything is on your terms, but what about my terms?”

  Something tells me I should simply agree to whatever terms she’s about to lay out here.

  “OK,” I say. “What are your terms?”

  “Take it all back. The car, the gifts. Turn back the clock and start over with a real relationship, with us on equal footing. You talk to me about your family stuff, the hard stuff. And you keep me company longer than just to fuck around.”

  I shake my head. Now, an internal flip has been switched and I’m in negotiations mode. “The car, the clothes, the airline tickets, all of that is yours. I won’t take them back.”

  “This is not a negotiation, Anthony.”

  “Life is a negotiation.”

  “You’re wrong. Life is… Life is skinny dipping, and eating too much ice cream, and splashing in rain puddles, and reading what makes you feel good, and laughing with friends until you can’t breathe.”

  This is it, I think. All of those things she listed, I don’t know how to do those things. I was never taught simply how to… live.

  “If you don’t get that, then I think you have some work to do.” She crosses her arms across her chest.

  “Are you breaking up with me?”

  She shakes her head. “I think we need some space to figure things out.”

  “That’s what you want?”

  She nods. “And I just want to go home and see Addie.”

  I have to whisper to hide the ragged crack in my voice. Tears. I have actual tears coming up, and a hard knot in my throat. I guess I’m more human than I give myself credit for.

  “What my girl wants, my girl gets.”

  23

  Hunter

  Both of my parents are waiting on the front steps when I come home.

  “Inside, young lady. We need to talk.”

  Five minutes later, the three of us are occupying the same sofa at the same time, and it saddens me that I can’t remember the last time this happened. All three of us together? Wow. I just wish this family meeting was about something fun.

  “Whose car is in the garage?” my mother begins, her voice shaking.

  “Mine.”

  “Are you dealing drugs?”

  I laugh. “No
, Mother, I’m not dealing drugs. My boyfriend is…well, he’s is a bit older and very wealthy. He bought me the car because he didn’t think the Jeep was safe.”

  Dad booms, “Boyfriend! What boyfriend?”

  “Yes,” Mom says with a forced calm, “We’d like to know who it is. The car is one thing. Your computer search history is another. Is this boyfriend pressuring you to do things?”

  Tears sting my eyes before I can control my roiling emotions. “No, Mom, he’s not pressuring me. I just wanted to look things up for us to do that won’t end in pregnancy.”

  “I don’t know whether to be pleased or horrified by this revelation,” Mom says.

  “Tell me his name so I can sue him,” Dad breathes. He’s starting to sound unhinged. “No, I’m going to kill him and then I’m going to sue him.”

  “Sue him for what, Dad? For paying attention to me when I’m alone in this house ninety-nine percent of the time?”

  Mom tries to keep the conversation focused. “How long did you really think you would get away with hiding a brand new car from us?”

  “Well, I’ve had it for two months and you just now found it,” I say with a shrug.

  “And where have you been the past two days? You texted me you were on a shopping trip with Addie. But when I ran into Addie’s mother at the grocery store, I got a very different story. You and Addie never went shopping, did you? You were with him.”

  “We’ve been in New York.”

  My dad begins pacing. My mother rubs her temples. “I suppose that was his car dropping you off. So this is some kind of trophy girlfriend relationship? Are you his kept woman?”

  “Don’t talk about him like that. This is a real relationship!” OK, so that last part is a bit of an embellishment, but they don’t need to know Rushmore and I had a falling out and we’re working on things.

  “Anyone who is courting you ought to at least meet your parents before buying you cars and whisking you off to New York,” Mom says, like it’s breaking news.